


Bertie Wooster and the Carnal Feelings

by Saylee



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Community: queer_fest, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/Saylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie ends up with more than he bargained for when he escorts Muffy Peabody-Pearson home from a party, and is forced to examine those feelings he's kept hidden even from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bertie Wooster and the Carnal Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Queer_fest. Original Prompt: Jeeves and Wooster, Reginald Jeeves/Bertie Wooster, Bertie ends up in a sexual situation with a woman for the first time, with disastrous results. In fact, he found the whole affair rather distasteful. Convinced that he must be doing something wrong, Bertie desperately wants to ask Jeeves for advice. But how to broach the subject?

"Good lord!" I gasped, leaning heavily on a certain Miss Muriel "Muffy" Peabody-Pearson's powder room vanity, shaking violently, clutching my erstwhile trousers, and feeling inexplicably like weeping. 

Wait, I hear you say. What is this nonsense? Wooster prides himself on being a preux chevalier; what can he be doing trouserless in the home of a young lady? And you would be right to ask, for I seem to have dropped into my tale in media res, as it were, a mistake Bertram is all too apt to make. Thus, I will begin again from the beginning and shed some light on this rather rum situation. 

I had first made the acquaintance of the Peabody-Pearson earlier that evening, at a party thrown by one Roberta Wickham, a delightful girl, but one rather too full of espiéglerie for my tastes, which were rather more suited these days to a good b. and s. and an evening of kidding back and forth with Jeeves, my paragon of a manservant. The redheaded Wickham menace had shouted my name as I arrived, hurtling towards me with a little wisp of a blonde on her arm. 

"Bertie, there you are at last! Whatever took you so long? Well, no matter, I want you to meet a friend of mine." She thrust the smiling blonde forward. "Bertie, this is Muffy Peabody-Pearson. Muffy, Bertie Wooster, the one I was telling you about." The two fillies exchanged a look that I should have recognized as ominous. 

"I've been so looking forward to meeting you, Mr Wooster," the P.-P. beazel practically purred 

"Oh, ah?" I found myself blushing and stammering. Not the suavest of Wooster responses, but then members of the fairer sex are more apt to flee in terror or else giggle uncontrollably upon meeting me for the first time. 

"Didn't I tell you he was delightful? Oh! There's dear Felicia, I must go speak to her. Toodle-oo, darlings." And with that, la Wickham was no longer in our midst. 

It is not often that anyone other than Jeeves can tolerate the Wooster presence for more than an hour at most, so I was surprised that the filly glued herself to my side and did not seem to grow bored of Bertram. For her part, she seemed to be a charming girl, ready to laugh at my jokes and able to swing a nimble shoe on the dance floor. I found myself having a grand old time, and when the beazel excused herself towards the end of the evening to powder her nose, a burly fellow I knew only by sight threw a friendly arm around my shoulder. 

"You lucky devil. Muffy seems to like you." He guffawed. 

Hiding my bemusement, I replied. "Oh yes, delightful girl." 

He laughed again. "Now there's a girl who knows how to have fun. You lucky dog." Seeing her approaching he released me with a clap to my shoulder reminiscent of Honoria Glossop. The incident left me rather baffled, but I resolved to let it roll off of me, like water off a duck's back, though why ducks should be such a particularly unruffled species of fowl was beyond me. Jeeves would know. Resolving to ask him, I welcomed the charming Miss P.-P. back into the fold. 

The trouble did not begin until an hour or so later, as the bash was winding to a close, and I did not immediately recognize the danger I was in, when I gallantly acceded to my companion's request that I escort her home. A gentleman does not leave a lady to fend for herself in the misty wee hours of the morning, and I have always prided myself on being the sort of fellow one can trust in a taxicab. The modern girl is a curious creature, however, for no sooner had the cab pulled away with us ensconced inside than I felt a delicate hand land indecently far up my thigh. 

"I say!" I squeaked, thoroughly discombobulated, as nimble little fingers began tracing my inseam. "That is to say, I say - There's no need for that." 

She abandoned her rather disconcerting contemplation of my lap to pout becomingly in the direction of the Wooster visage. "Whyever not? I like you a great deal, Mr Wooster - may I call you Bertie? - and I had rather thought you liked me as well." 

"Oh, er, yes. A great deal," I managed weakly. I had liked her quite well until this rummy leg fondling business. That, I wasn't too keen on, but I could hardly hurt the filly's feelings by telling her so. "It's only, we're in a cab. Not at all the place for it." 

"Why, Bertie Wooster, you're shy!" she exclaimed. "Oh, that is sweet. Or - you haven't done this before, have you? You poor lamb." I blushed violently. I had been conducting my part of the conversation in hushed tones, so as not to alert the driver as to our situation. As bad as bandying a woman's name, I thought, advertising that we were in such a scandalous position. That this Peabody-Pearson chit apparently had no qualms bandying my name seemed rather unfair. 

"I say," I tried again, as her small hand slid even further up my leg. From the way the less preux of my fellow Drones spoke, I should have been enjoying this tremendously, but I could only swallow back a growing feeling of wrongness. 

"Hush, darling," Muffy - for it seemed silly not to think of her by her first name when she was being so very intimate with my person - said, effectively cutting off my stuttering protestations, as we glided to a stop in front of a building I assumed must be hers. "I'll show you everything. Now pay the nice man, and come along." 

In a daze, I paid the driver and followed the young menace into the building. Protests seemed fruitless, as the filly seemed rather detemined. No doubt they would fall on deaf ears. I was being dashed silly about the whole thing anyway. By all accounts, this promised to be pleasant in the extreme. I swallowed back the lump in my throat and trotted dutifully after her. 

I didn't even have a moment to take in her flat as the door closed behind us, before she was on me like a barnacle. She did not even pause to offer me a drink, which I thought was dashed unhospitable of her, before growing several extra pairs of hands, and chivvying me towards the boudoir, unfastening fastenings as she went. In a matter of moments, I found myself sans trousers and pants, sprawled amongst a sea of downy pillows and coverlet, with the feral beazel between my knees. In my bamboozled state, it took me several moments to realise she was pouting prettily at me. I felt myself flush with shame, as I realised why; I wasn't keeping up my end of the deal so to speak. I looked down at her and tried to dredge up a spark of interest, or a spark of anything rather than the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. She was a pretty girl. I was supposed to feel something for a pretty girl. A thought that didn't bear examining nudged at the edge of my conscience, but I ignored it manfully. Maybe if I closed my eyes and didn't think about what was happening - 

A too small hand wrapping around - well around that part of a gentleman to which one ought not to allude in mixed company - startled me into opening my eyes. This was all wrong. I jerked back and rolled away from her, leaving her staring at me in astonishment and possibly outrage. 

"I'm sorry," I babbled, scrambling off the bed, "I can't do this. You're a lovely girl, really, but I simply can't." I searched frantically for my discarded raiment, and snatched it up with a cry, hastening through the nearest door, and finding myself in a sumptuous powder room, which is where I dropped into my story. 

"Good lord!" I gasped, leaning heavily on the vanity, shaking violently, clutching my erstwhile trousers, and feeling inexplicably like weeping. I glanced at my reflection, and found myself white as a ghost, or perhaps a sheet. I had to leave, that much was certain. I longed for home, with its soothing Jeevesian atmosphere, and yet more for the comforting presence of the man himself. 

When I emerged, betrousered but still shaken, the unspeakable Muffy had changed into some frightfully frothy concoction that brought a blush to the damask cheek, lounging amongst the many pillows and smoking. 

"Well, this turned out to be a frightful bore," she complained as I tried to make my exit as inconspicuously as possible. 

I offered up a feeble shrug, "Er, terrible sorry." 

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, just go." 

I hied me home as fast as my rather shaky legs would carry me, far too agitated to think of hailing a cab. Finally, I tottered through the door of the old homestead, where Jeeves was waiting to take my coat and hat, mercifully offering no comment on the state of my attire. I lost no time in getting well-beneath the surface, Jeeves somehow mysteriously keeping my glass full like a benevolent zephyr. Still, even the calmest of life-giving winds is apt to furrow the brow when the young master casts aside his usual sunny disposish so assiduously. So it was that a polite cough, like that of a sheep on a distant hillside, roused me from my contemplation of a troubled b. & s. 

 

"Pardon me, sir, but you appear distressed." 

"Indeed, Jeeves, indeed. Distressed is the word for it. Or perhaps shaken. Rattled. One might go so far as to say that I am distraught." 

"I see, sir." Then, carefully, "Perhaps, I might be of assistance, sir?" 

Instinctively, I cringed. How humiliating to have anyone learn of my failure, much less a perfect specimen like Jeeves, who had probably never disappointed a woman in his life, who no doubt had prodigious talents in that area, as in every other, who certainly did not harbour secret doubts as to his nature, as I did about mine. On the other hand, Jeeves knew everything. If there was a balm for my spirits, an answer for what I had done wrong, a cure for the sick feeling that had sat in the pit of my stomach since I had escaped the P.P. beazel's clutches, it would be found in the depths of my paragon's marvellous fish-fed brain. My answer was clear; I must put myself into the capable hands of my valet, as I had so many times in the past, and trust him to rescue me from myself. 

Still - 

"It's a rather delicate matter, Jeeves." 

"I understand, sir." 

"Could you promise me the utmost secrecy?" 

"Certainly, sir." 

"That is to say, if anyone but you were to know, it might well do me in." 

"Discretion shall be my watchword, sir." 

"Very good, Jeeves," I attempted to smile at him, but it turned rather shaky, and next thing I knew the whole sordid, shameful story was pouring out of my mouth. Jeeves listened, attentive as ever, and very grave. "What am I doing wrong?" I blurted, as my tale came to its end. 

When he answered, Jeeves's tone was worryingly cautious. "Perhaps, sir, it was the young lady's forwardness that you did not enjoy." 

"She bally well was forward. What do they teach girls these days, Jeeves, I ask you?" 

"An incisive question, sir. I should not like to find out myself." 

"What right-thinking man would? But, no Jeeves, I didn't like the way she jumped on me, but it was more than that, I think." 

"Perhaps the young lady was merely not to your taste. If she had been a brunette, for instance, or -" and here he shuddered delicately, but continued manfully on, " - a redhead, sir, you may have found the proceedings more interesting." 

I tried to imagine the so-called Muffy with tresses of varying shades, to no avail. I shook my head despondantly. 

"If you had deeper feelings for the young lady, sir? Often carnal feelings and love go hand in hand." 

I was aware of a sinking sensation somewhere in the stomach region. "Not for me, Jeeves. Not one of the girls I've been in love with inspired me that way." 

"If I may so bold, sir, I believe those cases were more akin to infatuation than -" 

"Oh, what does it matter, Jeeves? Perhaps you're right, but the salient point - is salient the word I want? - is that I have never experienced carnal feelings for a specimen of female pulchritude, and I don't believe I ever will." 

I glanced up at him, and was surprised to note that he was wearing a distinct worried frown on his usually imperturbable mask. Deeply serious, he tried one more time, "Some men, sir, simply lack what one might call the sex drive -" 

But images of those for whom I had had carnal feelings were swimming in my mind: Bingo Little, Ginger Winship, Kipper Herring, Esmund Haddock, Jeeves, himself. Jeeves most of all, in fact, which made my current situation all the worse. I groaned and buried my head in my hands. 

"Ah," Jeeves said, so quiet as to barely be heard. "That is not it, is it, sir?" 

I shook my head morosely, without removing the old bean from my hands. 

"Men, sir?" His sympathetic tone gave me hope that I might not see myself in chokey just yet for my deviant thoughts. I gave a miserable nod. 

"I've tried to change, Jeeves, really I have." My voice cracked. "I just can't seem to stop admiring chaps." 

"May I speak freely, sir?" 

I waved a hand, "By all means, Jeeves." 

He cleared his throat. "You are not the first man of my acquaintance with these predilections, sir. I have come to believe that such things cannot be changed, and indeed, are not meant to be." 

I gulped. "Do you really think so, Jeeves?" 

"Indeed, sir. And you have my assurance that what you have told me will go no further." 

I smiled weakly at him. "Thank you, old thing. I don't suppose - it's been a trying night and all - could you possibly - oh dash it all, Jeeves, I could do with a press of the shoulder and perhaps a manly embrace. No funny business," I added quickly, lest he be less than sanguine about wrapping the old limbs around a fellow like me, however sympathetic he might be to my plight. 

I need not have worried. "Certainly, sir," he replied, helping me into a standing position, the limbs being rather more noodley than I had expected, on account of the numerous b. and s.es I had consumed. 

Despite myself, I was surprised to find myself ensconced in his arms. His chest was warm and firm, much as I had always imagined, and the whole experience was both more topping and more nerve wracking than I could have dreamt. I exhaled a shaky breath against his neck, and felt him stiffen. 

"Sorry, Jeeves, sorry," I began, as he pulled back from me, but he did not release me, and instead regarded me with such an odd look that the apology died on the tip of my tongue. 

"I do not believe, sir," he began slowly, "that any apology is necessary. In fact, sir, I believe we would both benefit from some 'funny business', as you refer to it." 

"Jeeves?" I asked, not quite following. His lips curved upwards in a tiny smile. 

"Am I mistaken, sir?" He murmured, "For I would very much like to kiss you." I managed only a weak shake of my head in response, unable to believe my ears. "Very good, sir." he said, and kissed me. 

It was a slow, gentle kiss, nearly chaste when compared to the Peabody-Pearson's version of the labial press, but far, far more exciting, and utterly lacking that strange sick feeling. It shot through me like a speeding train, and I found myself clinging to Jeeves, wide-eyed, when we separated. He grazed my lip softly with his thumb. 

"G-g-golly, Jeeves," I managed to stutter. 

He gave me another of those miniscule smiles, just enough to touch the corners of his eyes and mouth. 

"I hope I am not too presumptuous, sir?" 

"No, no." I hastened to reassure him. "It was utterly topping, Jeeves, really. You're certain it's not wrong?" 

In response, he kissed me again. Well, I mean to say, really! I melted into him, determining to follow his lead. Jeeves was the paragon with the marvellous fish-fed brain, after all. Naturally, he knew best.


End file.
